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PRlDSUMMER 



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JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE 



. i') '*•■ \' ILLUSTRATED BY 

• T. V. CHOMINSKI 



BOSTON 

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1887 




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Copyright, iSS6, bv S. E. Cassino. 

Reprinted from 

"The Vagabonds, and Other Poems," 

by permission of the Author. 



rgUMMER, 



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Around this lovely valley rise 
The purple hills of Paradise. 
O, softly on yon banks of haze 
Her rosy face the summer lays! 




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Becalmed along the azure sky 
The argosies of cloudland lie, 
Whose shores, with many a shining rift, 
Far-off their pearl-white peaks uplift. 



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Through all the long midsummer day 
The meadow sides are sweet with hay. 



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I seek the coolest sheltered seat, 
Just where the field and forest meet, — 
Where grow the pine trees tall and bland, 
The ancient oaks austere and grand, 
And fringy roots and pebbles fret 
The ripples of the rivulet. 




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I watch the mowers as they go 

Through the tall grass, a white-sleeved row. 

With even stroke their scythes they swing, 

In tune their merry whetstones ring. 

Behind, the nimble youngsters run. 

And toss the thick swaths in the sun. 




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The cattle graze, while, warm and still, 
Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill. 
And bright, where summer breezes break. 
The green wheat crinkles like a lake. 



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The butterfly and humble-bee 
Come to the pleasant woods with me ; 
Quickly before me runs the quail, 
Her chickens skulk behind the rail ; 



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High up the lone wood-pigeon sits, 
And the woodpecker pecks and flits. 




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Sweet woodland music sinks and swells, 
The brooklet rings its tinkling bells, 
The swarming insects drone and hum, 
The partridge beats his throbbing drum, 
The squirrel leaps among the boughs, 
And chatters in his leafy house. 




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The oriole flashes by ; and, look ! 
Into the mirror of the brook, 
Where the vain bluebird trims his coat, 
Two tiny feathers fall and float. 




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As silently, as tenderly, 
The down of peace descends on me. 
O, this is peace ! I have no need 
Of friend to talk, of book to read : 




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Of Tn^d to Wh °f b°°\ 



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A dear Companion here abides : 
Close to my thrilling heart He hides ; 
The holy silence is His Voice : 
I he and listen, and rejoice. 



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